


Inkheart

by daymarket



Series: Evie [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Gen, Letters, Sibling Love, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daymarket/pseuds/daymarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly five thousand miles lie between them, with vast stretches of water and land barring the way. He's in London, the center of the world. She's in Amritsar, where the heart of the Indian Brotherhood rests. For better or for worse, their paths in life are set to diverge.</p><p>Some things, though, never change.</p><p>[Excerpts of letters sent between Jacob and Evie Frye, spanning 1870-1888.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inkheart

**Author's Note:**

> ...I need to stop coming up with chapter sketches that balloon into horrible, full-sized stories. UGH. This was going to be nice and short, and then it kind of...wasn't. Looking at my outline now, I'm going to guesstimate that it'll be about 10k. (Again. Gosh dingley dangit.)
> 
> This is the sixth chapter of _Strands_ , following after Evie's marriage and subsequent move to India. I couldn't find much research on how long it took to send mail back in Ye Olden Days, so I'm going to assume there's a base period of a week to get from India to the UK and vice versa.

_April 24, 1870_

Dear Jacob,

I think I've started this letter about five times already, and each time I find myself for a loss for words. It seems strange to be writing to you instead of just knocking on your door, and I wonder if you will find it equally odd. Actually, I'm wondering if you will write at all, if I'm going to be honest. You do know how to hold a pen, yes?

All jokes aside, I'd be lying if I said that I weren't a little bit overwhelmed to be here. India is so busy, Jacob. Take London and multiply it by a thousand, and that's a rough approximation of what it's like. There's so much of everything: color, scents, sounds, all walks of life brought together as one. Also, it's hot. Very, very hot. I shall never complain about London weather again.

Arbaaz and Pyara are letting us stay in their house for the moment as we acclimate ourselves. I've met with a few of the Indian Brotherhood already, as well having as a brief tour of their headquarters. They have a massive library here, but unfortunately for me, most of it is in Hindi. I've managed to wrangle lessons out of a lovely woman named Rajani, though, so I am optimistic. I've also spoken with their training master, Karu. Do you know, they have very interesting “fear fighting” (or at least, that's how it was translated for me) techniques here based on smoke and spikes? That, I would like to learn. And that's not to mention their research on First Civilization artifacts, but I'm sure that your eyes are glazing over at this point. I shall spare you the long-winded description, but suffice to say, there are depths here that the English Brotherhood has only barely begun to touch.

I am excited. Overwhelmed, but excited. It's barely been a week but there's already so much to do. How are things back in London, by the way? Quiet, I hope, although no doubt that you hope for the opposite!

Henry sends his love, although I'm sure you won't appreciate it.

Love,

Evie

* * *

_May 14, 1870_

Dear Evie,

I was a little tempted to smash my face into a bottle of ink and pass that off for a letter by rubbing my face against the paper, but somehow, I doubt that you would be amused. Not that the thought of your irritation would stop me, but then I'd have to deal with ink on my face and that's too much of a bother. So here I am, slaving away with a pen and paper. The things I do for you.

The Indian Brotherhood sounds quite interesting. Do they have a Council like our own up in Crawley? I've always thought that the Crawley bunch weren't doing so much as just full of hot air and blowing it out their arse, but it sounds like the Indians are more organized. So they have a “training master”—does that imply that they've got a regular system of apprentices and recruits, things like that? And what is this fear stuff exactly? I can see how you can use smoke for distraction, but what are the spikes for? I suppose blood spurting out from a spiked artery might induce fear, but somehow I doubt that's what they're going for. (Or is it?)

London's fine. I've actually been rather busy since you left. We've had a couple of attacks by Blighter loyalists still hanging around, and there's been a fair number of fights. I've repurposed your compartment into a makeshift infirmary, by the way. I've actually been thinking about selling the thing altogether; Agnes has been making eyes at me. And no, not that way, I think she's more married to the train than an actual human being. Not that I mind. Old Agnes is quite lovely but not for me, thanks.

Anyway, the point being, life has been busy. In a startling turn of events I'm in the strange position of parenting a foundling. Don't laugh! His name is Jack, and he seems like a nice enough boy. I extricated him from Lambeth Asylum, and I actually thought that I might just drop him off at O'Dea's at first and let them take care of him. He's rather grown on me, though, and I can't quite bring myself to do it. So we'll see.

Does that mean the next time I see you, you'll be speaking in Hindi? Namaste! Also, behen ke laude and gaand mein kida! It's amazing what you can pick up in the streets.

Love,

Jacob

* * *

_June 4, 1870_

Dear Jacob,

I asked Henry what your Hindi meant and he just started shaking his head and laughing. How very mature of you. Ha, ha.

The Indian Brotherhood is massively organized. At a guess, I'd say there's about eight or nine apprentices in training at the moment, which is amazing considering last time I heard about Crawley, there was...one? Maybe. And that's not to mention the active Assassins out in the field. They've got people not just in India but in places like Pakistan, Bangladesh, and even as far away as Iran and Egypt. The English Brotherhood is a poor, strangled substitute in comparison.

The fear techniques are a little more complex than that. They have coloured smoke that's meant to confuse and disorient, and the spikes aren't meant to go into the human body, just to create the illusion of having done so. They also have these...I guess you'd call them “scream bombs”, perhaps? They take a few seconds to explode after triggering, and the sound they make is quite horrific. Certainly fear-inducing to say the least.

Ah, so you're a father now! Congratulations, Mr. Frye! I am sure that you will be a stellar parent and not corrupt the precious young mind in any way, shape or form. (I'm only being a little sarcastic, I promise.) I am curious, though: Lambeth Asylum? I know that place doesn't have the most stellar reputation in terms of patient care, but are you quite sure that he's all right? He must be quite interesting to have caught your attention. How old is he? 

Are you sure I can't tempt you to at least visit for a while? I know your precious skin will blister terribly in this sun, but I rather think it's worth it.

Love,

Evie

* * *

_July 1, 1870_

Dear Evie,

Oh God no, I'm not a father. I'm not ready for that just yet, thanks all the same. I prefer to think of myself as the debonair older brother instead. It's a chance for me to fulfill that fantasy I've never had, given that I've an older sister (of four whole minutes!) breathing oppressively down my shoulder my entire life.

Jack is twelve. He was in the asylum after his mother died. Murdered by some of Starrick's old loyalists, actually. He's traumatized from it, of course, but, well, I don't know. Evie, strange as it may sound, I rather do see myself in him. Both of us, really. You know how we were both unholy terrors as children, and he's got that same spark of energy and ambition that we both shared. It's strangely compelling. He's curious about me, and he's curious about what I've been doing. He's a good listener, you know, and a good learner. As to the latter point, I know that because I've been teaching him a few things. Not much, you know, just the basics: climbing, hiding, things like that. No dusty books in this curriculum, a fact that you can gnash your teeth over where I don't have to listen to you whine.

In all seriousness, he's actually sparked a bit of an idea. You and I both know how ineffectual the Crawley lot are. I had a visit from George again the other day, and I discussed this a bit with him. The original thought was to actually send any promising recruits over to Crawley for training, but I've been thinking that I might actually keep them in London and train them here. A London Brotherhood, so to speak. What do you think? It seems like a bit of a wild idea, if I'm going to be honest, but it can't be any wilder than the Rooks. And we all know how beautifully that turned out, if I do say so myself!

As a bit of a side note, George talked about sending some Assassins from Crawley to here and letting them experience life in the big city. I find it both amusing and just a little bit daunting that I'll be expected to mentor people who are an age and a half older than us. Maybe I'll just chuck them into the Rooks and tell them to report back in a month. If that doesn't scare them off, then nothing will, even the dog-sized rats in the sewers.

I just might take you up on that India offer. How about next month? If you don't reply fast enough, I'll just show up on your doorstep anyway. If I don't get horribly lost first. India's rather big, isn't it?

Love,

Jacob

* * *

_July 8, 1870_

Dear Jacob,

Excuse you, I was never oppressive. Or if I was, it was for your own good. 

Starting up a Brotherhood does sound like a wild idea, but I will admit that it's rather intriguing. So I'm assuming that Jack will be your first apprentice? I will, of course, throw my hat into the arena in favor of the dusty old books. Pretend they're bedtime stories or something if it soothes your conscience. And it's really quite funny to think that you might be lecturing the likes of, say, doddery Martin or that dreadfully pretentious Weston. I don't think they'd survive a week with the gangs, much less a month. Trial by fire! I approve.

Of course you're welcome to visit. I've enclosed instructions and a map with this letter. Hurry up and arrive; I've got so much to tell you when you get here.

Love,

Evie

**Author's Note:**

> Normally, I don't feel bad about my 'murican-style spellings since it's all third-person. Seeing as Jacob and Evie are actively writing these letters, though, I would appreciate pointers about any misspellings and/or gross mangling of Britishisms if any catch the eye. Thanks!


End file.
